Elasticity
by Scarlet Temptation
Summary: Paul is sent to protect Bella in the meadow while the rest of the pack hunt down Laurent. However when he meets her, it proves a little more difficult than he thought. Mid-NM/OOC/Lang/Non-canon
1. Chapter 1 Where Paul Imprints and Swears

Chapter One

I was so busy looking busy that the ferociously empty day ahead didn't really crash down on me until after I'd watched him drive away. It only took about two minutes of staring at the silent kitchen phone to decide that I wasn't staying home today. I considered my options.

I wasn't going to call Jessica. As far as I could tell, Jessica had crossed over to the dark side.

I could drive to La Push and get my motorcycle—an appealing thought but for one minor problem: who was going to drive me to the emergency room if I needed it afterward?

Or. . . I already had our map and compass in the truck. I was pretty sure I understood the process well enough by now that I wouldn't get lost. Maybe I could eliminate two lines today, putting us ahead of schedule for whenever Jacob decided to honor me with his presence again. I refused to think about how long that might be. Of if it ever _would_ be.

I felt a brief twinge of guilt as I realized how Charlie would feel about this, but I ignored it. I just couldn't stay in the house again today.

A few minutes later I was on the familiar dirt road that led to nowhere in particular. I had the windows rolled down and I drove as fast as was healthy for my truck, trying to enjoy the wind against my face. It was cloudy, but almost dry—a very nice day, for Forks.

Getting started took me longer than it would have taken Jacob. After I parked in the usual spot, I had to spend a good fifteen minutes studying the little needle on the compass face and the markings on the now worn map. When I was reasonably certain I was following the right line of the web, I set off into the woods.

The forest was full of life today, all the little creatures enjoying the momentary dryness. Somehow, though, even with the birds chirping and cawing, the insects buzzing noisily around my head, and the occasional scurry of the field mice through the shrubs, the forest seemed creepier today; it reminded me of my most recent nightmare. I knew it was just because I was alone, missing Jacob's carefree whistle and the sound of another pair of feet squishing across the damp ground.

The sense of unease grew stronger the deeper I got into the trees. Breathing started to get more difficult—not because of exertion, but because I was having trouble with the stupid hole in my chest again. I kept my arms tight around my torso and tried to banish the ache from my thoughts. I almost turned around, but I hated to waste the effort I'd already expended.

The rhythm of my footsteps started to numb my mind and my pain as I trudged on. My breathing evened out eventually, and I was glad I hadn't quit. I was getting better at this bushwalking thing; I could tell I was faster.

I didn't realize quite how much more efficiently I was moving. I thought I'd covered maybe four miles, and I wasn't even starting to look around for it yet. And then, with an abruptness that disoriented me, I stepped through a low arch made by two vine maples—pushing past the chest-high ferns—into the meadow.

It was the same place, of that I was instantly sure. I'd never seen another clearing so symmetrical. It was as perfectly round as if someone had intentionally created the flawless circle, tearing out the trees but leaving no evidence of that violence in the waving grass. To the east, I could hear the stream bubbling quietly.

The place wasn't nearly so stunning without the sunlight, but it was still very beautiful and serene. It was the wrong season for wildflowers; the ground was thick with tall grass that swayed in the light breeze like ripples across a lake.

It was the same place . . . but it didn't hold what I had been searching for.

The disappointment was nearly as instantaneous as the recognition. I sank down right there where I was, kneeling there at the edge of the clearing, beginning to gasp.

What was the point of going any farther? Nothing lingered here. Nothing more than the memories that I could have called back whenever I wanted to, if I was ever willing to endure the corresponding pain—the pain that had me now, had me cold. There was nothing special about this place without _him._ I wasn't exactly sure what I'd hoped to feel here, but the meadow was empty of atmosphere, empty of everything, just like everywhere else. Just like my nightmares. My head swirled dizzily.

At least I'd come alone. I felt a rush of thankfulness as I realized that. If I'd discovered the meadow with Jacob . . . well, there was no way I could have disguised the abyss I was plunging into now. How could I have explained the way I was fracturing into pieces, the way I had to curl into a ball to keep the empty hole from tearing me apart? It was so much better that I didn't have an audience.

"What the _hell _are you doing out here? Do you have a death wish?" a furious voice bellowed at me from the other side of the meadow.

I looked up from my position and found a figure charging towards me, crushing the grass under his big, stomping feet. In an act of pre-emptive defense, I straightened up and got ready to run—or my version of running that most would call stumbling.

"Well? Do you care at all? Of course, if there's something dangerous within fifteen miles you just _have _to migrate to it like a God damn _magnet!_"

The closer he got, the better I could make out the features of his angry face. He was one of the boys from the reservation. His russet skin made my heart skip a beat when I matched it to the same shade as Jacob's.

Suddenly, I didn't care that he was yelling at me. He stopped about five feet away, breathing like an enraged bull and shaking with an intensity that made me genuinely believe that he was about to burst out of his skin.

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded. "It's not like you aren't _aware _of what kind of danger you're in. We all know about you and the . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked to my face more intently. The deep scowl melted away and the boys chocolaty skin seemed like it physically softened.

It was only for a split second—enough time to notice, but not long enough to comment—then an even deeper set of creases etched back into his muscles and a frustrated scream erupted from his mouth, sending me stumbling backwards in surprise.

"For fuck's sake! Can't I catch a fucking break? Does every motherfucking thing in this fucking world have to be ten times more fucking difficult for me?" he shouted at the top of his lungs, leaving me to wonder what it was that I'd done to suddenly make things so much more terrible that it warranted that amount of cuss words.

Before I realized it, before I even saw a reason to do it, I was crying. I was uncontrollably bawling. Doubled over again as I had been just a couple of minutes ago when this boy had found me.

"Fuck, why the fuck are you fucking crying? He's gonna fucking kill me when he sees this. Is it my fault? What the fuck am I saying; of course it's my fault—Paul, the epic fuck up who makes his fucking imprint cry as soon as he fucking meets her. God forbid there be one person in this motherfucking world who doesn't in some_ bizarre_ way aggravate me."

"I'm sorry," I stammered through my heaving breaths. I felt like a child witnessing an argument; hiding under the table while my parents screamed at each other. That was why I was crying. Only, there was just one of him, and he seemed to be having a very intense internal argument with himself.

"What?" he muttered, seemingly just realizing that I was still here. "Oh, no no, it's not your fault, it's just—fuck, I'm such a moron—I'm not sure what to do right now. I'm supposed to get you out of here, but I didn't know _this _was going to happen. Fuck."

I tried to stop my tears, sniffing and wiping them from my eyes, but that just got his attention and before I knew what was happening I was surrounded in warmth and the smell of fresh, salty sweat.

Paul—I think I'd heard him call himself that—was hugging me, and for whatever reason, I wasn't stopping him. His warmth felt nice, like Jacob, like the sun that hadn't appeared despite the dryness of this particular day. Beyond the screaming and anger and cussing, Paul was welcoming—a place I wanted to be.

The next few minutes were peaceful and almost comfortable. When Paul spoke again, it wasn't at some outrageous volume or consumed with fury.

"Where was I?" he asked calmly.

"Somewhere between 'fuck' and your own confusion," I answered, mumbling into my shoulder from my position against his chest with my head turned to the right under his chin.

His chest vibrated a little as he laughed under his breath. "I'm sorry about that; I have this little issue with control," he apologized.

I couldn't decide whether it was sincerity I was hearing in his voice, or just the fact that he wasn't yelling and hadn't said "I'm fucking sorry about that". Either way, I didn't reject or call him out on it.

"C'mon, let's get you somewhere safer—before you see something you really don't want to," Paul said decidedly and released me from the pleasant cage of his arms.

Oddly, I missed the constriction. It wasn't like being imprisoned, more like being protected. His muscles were so hard and long over his body—reassuring to me in the forest that had been scaring me not too long ago. Now that assurance was gone too, like everything this meadow had ever held for me.

When I looked to his face I was surprised to see his dark brown eyes staring back at me already. Did he feel the same yearning for the broken touch I did?

"I should probably carry you or something, huh? I saw in—Jacob said you were accident prone," he stammered.

The idea of being carried out of here, as if I were an infant incapable of walking, wasn't a very appealing one. It reminded me of how _he _would carry me around because I wasn't fast enough.

. . . I wasn't good enough more like it . . .

"I'm fine. I can walk," I told him with a surprising amount of firmness.

"That wasn't what I meant," he said as we began walking towards the edge of the clearing. "The question is, _should you?_"

"I don't think you know me well enough to make decisions about my physical capabilities. I can find my own way back, thanks," I muttered bitterly. Who was he to insult me and my legs like that? I made a few longer, quicker strides forward, leaving him behind as I headed back the way I came. I still had the map and the compass, and I could remember—somewhat—the way I came.

About five minutes of walking through the forest—stomping to both scare off snakes and express my anger—passed and I allowed myself to slow down. My heart and mind were racing at a hundred miles an hour. This whole day had been so overwhelming from the second I left the house. I should have known better than to hope for a good day—the weather was about as much as I should have taken.

Now the hole in my chest was sporting fresh wounds, the fantasy of what I would find in the meadow was shattered, and I'd met quite possibly the most erratically rude person in the world while I was there. The effort I'd put into finding the once mystical place was pointless . . . well, except for the time I spent with Jacob. That was one upside of the otherwise pointless expedition.

"You're going in the wrong direction," the same deep voice I'd left several minutes ago said from my right hand side.

I stopped and whirled around to find Paul standing twenty feet away looking back at me. Apparently I hadn't been direct enough when I'd told him I could manage.

"I can find my own way," I replied, irritated.

He laughed a tiny bit. "To where? Oregon? You've been heading south-west for the past five minutes."

I started to glare at him. "Don't you have something better to do than follow me around hurling insults? First it's my self preservation, then my walking capabilities, now my sense of direction—"

"Did it ever occur to you that those qualities are genuinely lacking in you? It's not an insult if it's true. I'm a cocky, hot-headed, asshole; that's not an insult because it's true. You're klutzy, couldn't find your way out of a U-shaped tunnel, and if faced with a situation where one door said 'peril' and the other said 'safety' you'd head for the danger just so someone could come and save you. It's nothing to get your panties in a twist over."

My teeth clenched so tight my molars hurt as I fought the urge to verbally attack him. Maybe even physically—there were plenty of rocks by my feet. I'd never met someone who took such delight, such _joy_ in infuriating me.

"Well I'm sorry I can't be perfect! I found my way in here and I can find my way home again. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone!" I growled through my teeth. Angry heat brewed in my face and spread down my neck and spine. My hands clenched into fists and for the first time in months I felt something other than pain and sadness. I felt angry . . . _alive_.

"Who are you trying to convince?" he asked, smirking arrogantly. "Jacob seems to think you needed help, so did Sam."

Jacob? How did Jacob know where I was? "Wh-what do you mean?" My voice had softened without my consent and my muscles had loosened a fraction, unclenching my fists. "How do they know where I am?"

Paul looked away from me then and his face changed to a pinched look of confliction. "That doesn't matter," he muttered.

He was keeping a secret from me. Jacob knew where I was, even though he refused to talk to me in person. _Sam_, their cult leader, knew where I was. Were they all stalking me or something?

"Oh yes it does," I snapped, finding my anger again. "How did _you _know where to find me? How did Jake know where to send you? _Why _did he send you at all?"

I started walking forward to where Paul was kicking the ground with his bare feet—big chunks of clay-mud came up with each strike and I wondered, briefly, how it wasn't hurting him.

"Are you all following me?" I continued as the gap between us closed.

Still, I got no response.

"If I have to get a restraining order—"

"We weren't following _you_," he hissed under his breath. "We were chasing that filthy bloodsucker that _is _following you. He was on the other side of the trees when we got there, watching you, practically _drooling_ where he stood. So if I were you I'd be a little more grateful that we saved your life."

My whole body was paralyzed by the time he finished. They were following _vampires_? A little concern over the fact that there was a vampire after me fluttered through my mind, but mostly I was terrified with the fact that human boys were naively trying to kill it.

"Y-you . . ." I stopped for a moment to regroup, taking a much needed breath before continuing, "You can't kill vampires."

"Why not?" he asked simply.

I almost laughed. They supposedly spent their time tracking vampires, but had no clue about them. "They're too strong, _they'll_ kill _you_," I explained.

Paul scoffed loudly and laughed a quick bark. "You're so sheltered." He sighed, smiling a little. "You're not dead right now, are you? So _clearly_ we're stronger than them. The only _real _weapon they've got against us is their venom, and that's pretty hard to use when their head is ten feet from their bodies. Your beloved vampires aren't the only thing in the forests at night. They bump and we bump back." Paul grinned at me—I couldn't help the pity that was forming in me for him. He just didn't get it. He didn't _understand _how wrong he was_._

Words wouldn't form in my mouth. My head just shook from side to side, disagreeing with him silently.

"Your head's stuck on repeat," he teased, mimicking my head shaking.

"Paul, stop," I murmured. This day just kept getting worse—even more overwhelming. "What are you doing chasing vampires? Who got it into your head that you could hurt them, let alone _kill _them?" My tone was softer now; I'd lost the anger, now I was just scared for them. This cult was going to get them, all of them, killed.

"I've seen it," he explained. "I've never actually killed one myself, but I've seen it in—" He cut himself off suddenly; I didn't like that.

"The vampire's following _me_. Do you think you could stop leaving bits out?" I requested, once again I could feel myself getting annoyed. I'd never been this emotionally uneven before, and I wasn't sure I liked it. Though one thing I couldn't deny was how much more real I felt when my blood was coursing through my veins like it was now. The raw edges of the hole in my chest started to heal over and go numb when I had something else to focus on.

I made a quick note to get mad more often.

"It's not as eas—" Paul held his hand up to me and froze completely.

"Are you capable of saying a full—" In an instant, I was pinned against him with my back to his stomach and his hand clamped tightly over my mouth.

"_Shut the fuck up!_" he whispered into my ear with his mouth so close that I could feel his hot breath across my jaw. I had instinctively gone to pull his hand away from my mouth, but when a series of loud bangs reached my ears I'd stopped fighting against him and tightened my hold to the point that it must have been painful to him. Eyes wide, body tense, I searched through the trees for the source of the commotion. Nothing was in sight, but the sounds were getting closer.

So abruptly that I got a little motion sick, Paul shoved me between a cluster of tree trunks, bushes and ferns—they scratched my hands, face and the small section of skin on my lower back that was exposed when I was forced into the tiny space.

"_Don't move unless I tell you to,_" he ordered hastily.

When I looked up, he was gone. A blue heat flooded down my back and I stuck my hand behind myself to feel for the branch that surely must have been impaled in my spine. There was nothing there, I could move freely and a few seconds after it started, the pain left.

The scuffling and banging sounds drew closer and got progressively louder. I estimated that it was coming from my right side and closing in fast. A few more seconds and whatever it was would be right in front of me.

My heart was pounding in my chest and I could feel myself starting to shake. It didn't take much, just the sound of a branch breaking behind me, and I screamed loudly. Something heavy landed on the ground right next to me then and I bit back another scream, managing purely from the fact that it was so close. Heavy breathing noises started on the other side of the ferns.

This was it. Paul was gone, Jacob was off trying to kill a vampire, and Ed—no one else was here. Whatever it was, was about to tear me apart, or at the very least, maim me to an irreparable state. I closed my eyes tight.

But no pain came; no massive claws or teeth sank into me. The ferns around me were pushed down on top of my head, covering me further, and then the thing was gone.

I drew in a shaky breath of relief and crossed my arms around my chest to try and stop my heart from falling out of the hole with its frantic beating. Maybe Paul was right in putting me here. Maybe I _was _relatively safe—if not uncomfortable.

A strange sound interrupted my thoughts then, a _snarl_. The same scuffling sound continued, then, a blur raced past my window of sight. It was followed by something considerably bigger—that appeared to be on four legs.

_The bear_, I realized, _that's what it must be_.

Vampires, bears, and delusional teenaged boys. The forest was a living nightmare.

More scuffling came on the right hand side and I stayed as still as I could. The bear wasn't alone. Just before the cause of the sounds reached the opening in front of me, something came crashing down on the leaves just ten feet from me.

A body . . . minus the head.

A bear pounced from the right and swiftly tore an arm off the body. I was shocked even further when there was no blood in the wound. It was dry and jagged, like a rock. It was then that I looked to the bear.

It wasn't moving now.

It wasn't a bear.

Standing on the strange corpse was an enormous, eight foot tall _wolf_!

My heart stopped for a second and the wolf looked down to me. He knew where I was despite all the branches covering me. I was his next kill. This time I couldn't make myself close my eyes. I stared back to him stupidly—dark brown, piercing eyes sitting between narrowed lids.

But he didn't attack. He just stared . . . until something landed on the ground by his tire-sized paw that distracted him.

I looked down at the same time as the wolf, and my eyes widened even further. The missing head.

It had long inky black hair and a face I recognized even in its dismembered state.

_Laurent!_

The impossibly large wolves had killed a vampire.

Three more of them came in from both sides at that moment and began tearing at the body. I watched—both terrified and enamored—as they ripped through the impenetrable skin with nothing but their teeth. Having seen the strength of vampire skin myself, I didn't even want to guess how hard their teeth were to make them strong enough to do that. I didn't want to guess how easily they could slice through _my _skin.

They piled up the pieces with eerily human-like co-ordination, and once they were done, the atmosphere changed. It got insanely tense in the blink of an eye.

One of the brown wolves, the largest from what I could see, turned on one of the grey ones. He barred his teeth and dug at the ground with his huge claws, growling and snapping.

The grey one responded; his hackles rose as he dropped his head below his shoulders and growled back. It took only ten seconds, maybe even less, for the grey one to lunge. They gargantuan bodies collided with a deep thump and both reared up onto their hind legs, making attempts for the others throat.

I realized all too late just how close to me they were. The brown one took a step back and his foot grazed my knee, then with a hard lunge from the grey one, both fell to the ground—collecting all the trees on my right. I struggled to get out of the way and forced myself into a space that was far too small between the plants on my left to prevent myself from being crushed. The two of them continued fighting on the ground.

They'd gone from working together to kill Laurent, to fighting amongst themselves. These creatures were volatile and impulsive. Dangerous.

The snarls and snapping jaws continued for a few more long seconds, then, with a yelp, the fight was finished. The brown wolf stood and growled deeply before sprinting off—taking three of the others with him. Now I was left with the grey wolf and another black one.

Silence followed the departure of other four wolves. The two remaining animals looked at each other for a long while, then—as if admitting defeat—the black wolf exhaled loudly and walked off in a much calmer manner than the other had.

Now it was just the grey wolf and I. Had that whole fight thing been about who'd get to eat me? Had he won? There was no way I'd be able to out run him or fight him off. He knew where I was, so hiding was impossible.

I watched him pace back and forwards in front of me like a caged lion. Several times, he paused and looked directly to my eyes, then growled as if frustrated before continuing to pace.

It was such a bizarre thing to watch an animal seemingly experiencing a high level of confliction.

Maybe he had a conscience or something. He didn't _want _to kill me.

Had the brown wolf won and it was now the grey wolf's job to execute me?

Holy crap, the tension was going to kill me before the wolf could get around to it.

The wolf paused in his tracks once again and snarled a deafening roar, then threw back his head and started to tremble. His body shrunk and his fur seemed to disappear. In a second, maybe less, the wolf was gone and a naked man lie on the ground here it once stood.

I couldn't breathe anymore. My eyes went wide and my mouth fell open. This couldn't be _real_!

But then again, vampires are. Who's to say giant wolves aren't? The factor that shook me the most—one I refused to acknowledge immediately—was just how much the hunched over man looked like Paul.

Impossible.

When I focused my eyes again and came out of my thoughts, he was moving—struggling with what looked like pants. He kicked angrily for another second, then stood up and buttoned the cut-off jeans as he moved. I recognized the shorts, the shade of brown that his skin was, the quietly spoken "Fuck this fucking shit to fucking hell" that was just audible to my ears.

It was him. Paul had just transformed from a massive wolf to a human. It was the impossible proved possible. And it was too much.

My neck went limp and the world faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2 Where Bella and Paul Talk

Chapter Two

"Tristan, fuck off!"

"Paul, stop _swearing_. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Obviously at least once more."

"I just wanna see—"

"Fuck. Off!"

"Ow!"

"Stop hitting your brother—he's just curious, he's not hurting her."

"Well we wouldn't have a problem if you'd just let me take her to my room!"

"You know the rules."

"Fuck th—"

"Paul!"

"Mom! Tristan, fuck off!"

A squeal of pain pierced the air then a thud followed. I flinched a little, and then suddenly something was hovering very close to my face, though I couldn't see it with my eyes closed.

"Bella?" a soft voice whispered. I knew the voice, I also knew that it was incredibly annoying and rude… and that of a human capable of turning into a huge-ass dog.

I opened my eyes just a fraction and peered up to the face just four inches from mine.

"Get away from me," I muttered weakly.

Paul rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair next to me. I was lying on an old, dark blue couch that smelled of Febreeze and cookie crumbs in a room I didn't recognize in the slightest. I assumed I was in Paul's house—where else would I be?

"I just want to see her," the same young voice as I'd heard when I was coming to mumbled. I looked past Paul to an eight or nine year old boy that was standing behind him.

"No. She's not a museum exhibit," he growled with annoyance.

"It's fine, really," I said and sat up a bit. "Hi," I said to him.

The little boy smiled broadly and waved a little. He had to be Paul's brother—the resemblance was too strong for any other possibilities.

"There. You've said hello, now go do something else," Paul instructed.

"Are you Paul's girlfriend?" the little boy half shouted to get it out.

I immediately shook my head, while Paul lunged over towards his brother, failing to reach him when the little boy scampered out of reach then turned back and cheekily laughed. I was so preoccupied with Paul and Tristan, that I totally missed a woman I assumed to be his mother stepping forward—only noticing her when she started smacking his enormous bicep.

Paul didn't even seem like he felt it.

"Leave. Him. Alone!" she demanded, punctuating each word with a smack.

He slumped back into the chair, looking every part like the scolded child he was being treated like, and scowled petulantly. "He's so God damn annoying!" Paul huffed.

"Just like you were," she countered. "But no one screamed at you."

"That's not how I remember it," he muttered. After a long moment, he relaxed a little more and spoke again. "Mom, please, take him somewhere else."

The soft-faced woman sighed and turned to where Tristan was smirking. "There's a messy room at the end of the hall that has your name all over it. You know the rules, _anything out of place after five o'clock goes in the trash since you obviously don't care about it," _she recited and walked across the room to guide Tristan out.

"She didn't answer my question," Tristan whined just before being herded around the corner.

I chanced a look to Paul in the uncomfortable silence that had now fallen in the living room. He looked back out of the corner of his eye, lips pursed. He actually seemed embarrassed. That comforted me a bit, to not be the only one that was unsure of what to do.

"You passed out," he offered first. I nodded—that much was obvious. "I . . . your dad's seen you unconscious enough I think. I brought you back to my place instead, plus . . ." he paused and his face scrunched a bit as if he were struggling merely to speak. "You probably have questions . . . about what you saw."

"Just a few," I squeaked out as a lump grew in my throat. I swallowed and watched him nod.

"Are you wondering how?" he asked.

I couldn't speak now, so I just nodded.

"I'm not sure to tell you the truth. It's genetic, but I'm not sure about the physics. It just happens when I get angry, which means it happens a lot. When most people get angry they wanna yell and scream and they feel like they're gonna explode. Well I actually _do_," he explained, looking a little sheepish with his head dropped down and his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap.

"Does it hurt?" I asked under my breath. I could manage to get my words out if I just spoke them quietly.

Paul shook his head in response. "No, it actually feels good. It's like you're gonna burst, it just keeps building and building, and just when you're about to scream, it happens. It's like opening a pressure valve. The first time, though, I completely flipped out and started rolling around like I could somehow shake myself out of the wolf body. The way you reacted is perfectly normal—we all did it even though it was happening to us."

We_ all_? Those other wolves were humans too . . .

I felt my head go light again, but I took a deep breath and held onto reality. Now was not the time to break down and pass out.

"Aw fuck, you're gonna pass out again," he muttered under his breath.

I swallowed with a little difficulty and shook my head. "I'm fine."

He eyed me critically, and then seemed to decide I was telling the truth when he exhaled a little and looked away. "_This is so fucking weird,_" he mumbled to himself.

My eyebrows pulled together a little. Wasn't _I _supposed to be the one saying that?

Just as I was about to question his under-breath mumbling, Paul whipped around and glared at the door. "Worm, I hear you out there!" he shouted.

Tristan cackled and raced back off down the hall, clearly taking great delight in annoying his big brother. I couldn't decide who the antagonist was out of the two. The bait waver, or the boy twice his age who actually took it. It was kind of funny to watch.

It reminded me how Jacob and I would argue about who was more middle aged; once upon a time when he would return my calls, or speak to me at all. This was probably the longest amount of time I'd spent not thinking about him in days.

Apparently all it took for me to stop obsessing about his behavior was a pack of bear-sized wolves to have a giant death match two feet from me.

"You said _we all_," I reminded him, trying to take my mind of Jacob.

Paul looked back to me abruptly and his face fell from shock to confliction again.

"The other wolves are humans, too, aren't they?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Why is it so hard for you to talk about?" I asked.

His muscles twitched even tighter—even _that_ seemed like a hard question. "It's . . . there's lingering effects of the gag order," he stammered.

I didn't question the gag order. It would likely just turn into another twenty vaguely answered questions.

"Isabella—"

"Bella," I corrected instantly without even needing to consciously process his mistake.

"What's the difference? It's your name," he asked.

"Isabella sounds like a pretentious, French call girl . . . or a cat," I muttered spitefully. How I'd ended up with such a frilly name was beyond me. It had to have been Charlie's idea; Renee never called me by my full name.

Paul chuckled softly in the chair across from me, drawing my attention away from the memories of first arriving in Forks to find that everyone knew me by my full name. _Clearly _Charlie's doing.

"Okay, Bella," he amended. "Yes, there are other people . . . like me."

I brought my trembling hand to my face and pushed my hair back from my forehead, pulling on the front section as I did so. It helped a little with the tension building in my scalp.

Something brown on my arm caught my attention suddenly. Iodine. I inspected my arms more thoroughly and found I had little lines of brown all over. Painstakingly applied to each of the scratches I'd received from the bushes.

I pulled up the side of my shirt and examined the cuts on my waist as well. They were all marked with iodine.

"I didn't look at anything," Paul said pre-emptively. "My mom was here; you can ask her."

"I believe you," I said quietly.

He'd been so furious at me in the forest, then oddly protective of me with his little brother, and now he'd taken the time to individually clean each of my wounds. Somehow, that didn't seem half as weird as it should have. It made absolutely no sense for him to care about me, let alone the risk of an infection from a cut.

He and the other human-wolves had killed Laurent; they'd saved my life—_more_ than enough of a favor for me to be indebted to them for the rest of my days—whoever they were. But he didn't stop at that.

Flash memories of the events in the forest came to mind, particularly, the fight after Laurent was dead. They'd turned on each other. One of the other wolves had turned on Paul to be precise.

"Why were you fighting with one of the other wolves?" I asked.

He exhaled roughly and his jaw visibly clenched. "Jake's such a possessive fucker; you'd think you were _his _imprint. He _really _doesn't like that you're not." A half disguised smirk twitched at his lips.

"_Jacob!_" I gasped, horrified. That was _Jacob _fighting with Paul? No.

"You can't honestly say that it's that shocking now you think about it. One second he's living in your pocket, the next he won't even return your phone calls."

"How do you know about that?" I demanded. If everything else was crazy enough, now Jacob had been blabbing my activities around town.

"That's one of the love-hate things of being in the pack. We can hear each other's thoughts. Didn't you notice how I knew small details about you that strangers don't? I see them in Jake's head," Paul explained, seemingly on edge.

"You can read each other's minds?" I asked, seeking confirmation.

"Just each others; I can't read yours. I can't even read theirs if we're not phased," he said in a tone that indicated he was trying to calm me.

That was impossible given the current circumstances.

Although I was holding onto my outward composure shockingly well, inside I could barely breathe.

"Deep breaths, Bella," Paul coached.

I complied, sucking in some much needed oxygen.

This was getting to be too much. I had to leave, go home, and process all of this without something else adding to the already overwhelming amount of information I'd been told.

I slid my feet out from under the blanket I was half covered in and sat up without a word. Not thinking that it would be a big deal.

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_" Paul hissed under his breath, leaping to his feet faster than I could see. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you; I figured you'd want to know the truth."

I paused and looked up to his face. He actually seemed frantic for some reason.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he repeated in a fast but soft tone.

"What for?" I asked. "You saved my life; you don't have to apologize for anything. I just need to go home. I don't feel well."

His face tightened even further and he looked away from my eyes to the floor. He looked so pained for no apparent reason.

Maybe Sam had ordered him to keep me here or something and he was going to get in trouble if I left.

"Why don't you feel well?" he murmured, interrupting my speculation. Once more, his eyes settled intently on mine. It made me a little uncomfortable the way he stared, but not enough to ask him to stop.

I looked away myself before replying. "I haven't eaten in hours and I think I'm in shock. My brain's going into overload," I explained truthfully.

"I'll get you something to eat," he immediately offered.

"Paul, I need to be away from you," I confessed at last. Once again, his face changed—I'd hurt his feelings. "Being around you is just making things harder for me to wrap my head around everything that happened in the forest. I really just need to be alone."

"I'll drive you," he whispered under his breath sounding defeated.

A pang of guilt shot through me. I hadn't meant to offend him.

"Are you even old enough to drive?" I asked as nicely as I could.

He chuckled dryly and nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay," I agreed, relenting.

He held out his hand to me, offering to help me out. I didn't want to insult him any further, so I took it without argument.

Just like before, his skin was warm and inviting. His palms were callused and rough, but I didn't care. He pulled me to my feet and waited until he—and I—were sure I was balanced, then let go gently.

And again, just like before, I missed the contact once it was over. My hand itched to close the small distance and touch his again. We stood in silence, just inches apart, looking at each other in the grey light coming from the clouded sun outside the windows.

God, he looked so tense.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

He gestured for me to walk ahead of him—in case I fell most likely. I didn't argue like I wanted to, I just walked a little ahead of him towards the door then outside to the cracking ground that served as their front yard. There was too much rain for grass to successfully grow, so when it was dry like today the ground just broke on the surface like a smashed piece of glass.

"You really don't have to do this. I can drive myself," I told Paul one last time before he reached the driver's side door.

He exhaled loudly and pulled the door open without a word in response.

"How are you going to get home?" I continued as I opened the passenger's side.

"I'll phase and run. I'm five times faster than this car could ever have been . . . and that's when I'm walking," he replied, ever so smug.

I rolled my eyes childishly. There was nothing wrong with my truck; it had served me well these past few months. I didn't argue with him though.

Smug Paul was definitely better than conflicted and worried Paul.

He drove my truck with more respect than . . . _previous people _had. He knew it wouldn't go over fifty, and he didn't push it any harder. It was the first time in a long time that I wasn't fearful of someone else's driving.

It was kind of funny how controlled he was being now. After how I'd seen him behaving earlier, I would have bet big money on him having terrifying road rage.

Before I knew it, we were parked in front of my house without so much as a 'fuck' or 'shit' spoken from either of us.

. . . well, from Paul.

"How did you know—?" I started to ask when I realized I hadn't said my address, and then I remembered the mind-reading thing.

"Jake," he answered quietly.

I nodded, having already come to that conclusion. "Well thanks," I said, smiling as appreciatively as I could muster right now.

He smiled back in much the same manner. "You're welcome."

"I'm sorry about everything," I apologized; he'd been stressed out today as well, because of me. "If I hadn't have been in the forest I wouldn't have gotten in your way and—"

"And we never would have met," he interjected. We both went quiet for a few seconds, and then he continued in a whisper I strained to hear. "I'm not sorry, Bella."

His head dropped forward a little and I saw his hands starting to toy with the steering wheel. What could I say in response to that? I couldn't honestly say that knowing Paul for the past couple of hours—during which I was unconscious for half the time—was particularly pleasant. Mostly it was just confusing.

"Do you remember me saying anything about imprinting?" he asked tenuously.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, a couple of times."

"_You're_ my imprint," he told me, mumbling like it was a confession.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means I'm psychotic," he answered promptly, not even slightly playful or sarcastic.

"What?" I frowned.

He drew in a big breath and sat back straight on the seat, trying to be open and serious I guess. I didn't copy his action, instead staying half curled in on myself, but still looking him in the face.

"Imprinting is something that affects _me_, not so much you. It's an instinct to find and stay with our most appropriate partner. Depending on how you feel about me, that's either a good or a bad thing for you. I don't really have a choice; the instinct has attached me to you, so even if you hate the fact that I'm breathing the same air, I'm '_stuck'_ feeling like this.

"When I say it means I'm psychotic, that's how I'm feeling right now. I can _sense _your feelings, your presence, even a little of your bodily pain. When you feel scared or upset it sort of hurts me too. I feel like I'm going crazy because the only thing I really care about right now is that you're okay. Normally I wouldn't give a fuck if it wasn't bothering me, but . . . " His voice trailed off then and I could tell he probably wasn't going to continue with whatever it was he was going to say.

I didn't say it out loud, but I was definitely having weird impulses towards him too. I accepted strange things from him—one being that he could transform into a massive wolf—without question. I felt a senseless and non-stop urge to touch him, to keep bodily contact. I regretted it if I upset him, even with due cause, or by accident.

Even now, he was telling me about something completely ludicrous, yet I didn't find it _that _strange.

"This is the first time in years that I've used the words 'my feelings' or 'I'm feeling'. The fact that I'm saying it now must tell you something, even though you don't know me," he murmured, breaking the silence that had been growing around us in the cabin of my truck.

I wanted to touch him, hold his hand maybe, and tell him I understood. As impossible as it sounded, I could _feel _it. I knew he was telling the truth.

If he was, he'd be feeling my urge for contact too. He wouldn't find it uncomfortable if I went with it and touched him. I took a deep breath and decided to at least _try _it.

Tentatively, I reached across to the steering wheel and curved my left hand over Paul's right. A tingling sensation shivered down my body and my hand tightened instantly over his.

He glanced between my hand and my face a few times, looking uncertain. I wanted to pull away, but didn't want to at the same time. We just stayed still for a few seconds, feeling our skin against the others.

"I understand the imprinting part, but the rest is still making my head spin," I told him softly. "It's so peculiar to just instantly _know _what you're feeling."

He smiled sympathetically as he turned his hand over it in mine bit by bit, watching to see if I was going to take it away if he tried to physically hold on. Of course, I didn't. His fingers gently wrapped around the outside of my hand with our palms together and we let them fall to his lap below the wheel. His four fingers sat along the skin between my forefinger and thumb, his thumb curved around from the outside of mine and all five digits pressed in firmly. He was _really _holding on tight.

"Can I see you again tomorrow?" he asked, attempting to sound casual, but I could tell he was nervous about my response.

My impulses were telling me to agree, but my head was telling me I needed to sort myself out first. There was so much outside of Paul that was ridiculously surreal, and I know if I didn't think it through I'd end up in the same position as I'd been in when _he _came into my life. I wouldn't allow that to happen again.

"How about next week?" I suggested. His hand squeezed tighter on mine and I squeaked in pain.

He loosened his hold instantaneously.

"Why so long?" He was clearly disconcerted by my answer.

"You've known about this longer than me," I pointed out. "I'm sure you weren't immediately okay with it. I need time to adjust."

"_Fuck,_" he whispered. "I know I shouldn't be mad at you, just, _fuck_." His hand was now trembling around mine, loosening rather than tightening. He was still aware of my presence. "I'm gonna miss you. I don't even know _what _I'm going to miss, I just know I will," he muttered, taking on a rambling tone.

"Fuck?" I offered.

His lip twitched and he nodded jerkily. "Fuck."

I slowly rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand, trying to sooth his sullen expression. If I was barely getting any of the imprinting effects, I could only imagine what he felt like.

"So _when_ next week? I'd like an end point in mind," Paul continued.

I thought about it for a few seconds, but decided to go with the easiest option. "Seven days from now."

The lines on his forehead etched deeper as his face twisted into a full out scowl. "Maybe if you got to know me before exiling me for a week you mightn't feel the need to do it at all," he grumbled.

I sighed. "This isn't about you. Contrary to what you might believe, there's a whole world of issues out there that don't include or form around you."

He cocked his eyebrow at me, surprised, and smirked. "You can tell you're the imprint. Picking on your imprinter is so mean."

For the first time in a while, I wanted to smile. I almost did, but didn't _quite _form. Regardless of the lack of physical expression I was definitely feeling a little better. I looked down to where my hand sat in Paul's and squeezed it tighter. He squeezed back and then let go.

"I'll see you next Saturday," he promised.

I nodded and watched him open the screechy driver's side door. "Okay," I agreed.

"And Bella . . ." He turned back right after his feet hit the ground. ". . . there is nothing in the forest for you. Stay the fuck out of it."

"Fine," I muttered, rolling my eyes petulantly.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he chastised.

This time, I lifted my eyebrow at him. He was telling me what to do already?

"That's better. Now do you understand me? Stay in the town." His face was stern and his eyes fixed on mine. It was like I was already in trouble for something I hadn't done yet.

"Will _you_ be in the forest?" I shot back.

His eyes narrowed. "It's different for me. If I can't trust you I'm going to spend all my fucking time running around trying to keep tabs on you. Are you capable of staying alive without someone waiting in the shadows for you to find danger?"

Why did everyone in this world think I needed protection? I'd made it this long without being hit by a car or some falling space debris.

"I've lived for eighteen years now. I think I can manage seven more days," I said matter-of-factly.

He lingered for a few seconds, regarding me as if looking for a tell that I was lying. Once he was apparently satisfied, he stepped a little and took hold of the door in preparation to close it.

"_Try_," he requested one last time.

"I'll try not to die in the next seven days," I promised with a sarcastic edge to my voice.

He shook his head with amusement, smiling in a light-hearted way I hadn't seen before. I wanted to smile too, but it didn't quite form once again.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you next week," he said, almost laughing.

I nodded smoothly. "See you next fucking week."

He burst out laughing instantly, grinning at me broadly. "Don't swear, Bella," he chuckled.

"You do," I replied simply. On the inside, I was laughing with him.

"I also turn into a massive wolf; does that mean you can too?"

"Touché," I conceded.

"Be good," he instructed. "Bye."

"Bye," I echoed. He closed the door a second later and started walking towards the forest.

I could still see him shaking with laughter.

When I looked away I caught sight of my reflection in the rear vision mirror—particularly, the lightness in my eyes I hadn't seen in five months.

"Bella?" Charlie asked from the kitchen when I shut the front door.

"Yeah, it's me," I answered and turned around to face him when he appeared in the doorway with an ominous expression.

"Where have you been?"

I hesitated, I was supposed have been with Jessica. He'd probably called the Stanley's, judging by his tone anyway. He _knew _I hadn't been where I said I would be.

I'd better stick to the truth.

"I was hiking," I admitted.

His eyes were tight. "What happened to going to Jessica's?"

"I didn't feel like Calculus today."

Charlie folded his arms across his chest. "I thought I asked you to stay out of the forest."

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I won't do it again," I promised.

Charlie seemed to really look at me for the first time. I remembered that I had spent some time on the forest floor today; I must be a mess.

"What happened?" Charlie demanded.

I couldn't tell him what I'd seen. He'd either institutionalize me—which he had already considered—or he'd send out a hunting party and someone could get hurt.

"I fell over into a bush. Nothing major. You know me; accident prone." I shrugged a little to hopefully brush off some of his concern.

At the end of the day, I was okay.

"Where did you get iodine from?" he asked next, gesturing to the brown spots on my arms.

I looked at them for a moment before replying, "I keep some in my truck. In case this sort of thing happens."

He seemed convinced, but still upset with me for being in the forest in the first place.

"No more hiking," he ordered.

"Not a problem," I promised again.

Charlie nodded, finally satisfied, and uncrossed his arms. "Are you hungry?"

I was starving now. I hadn't eaten all day. "Yeah, starving," I agreed and followed him into the kitchen.

In the kitchen I found some of the fish he and Harry must have caught today sizzling away in a frying pan. This was probably the only thing Charlie could cook that wasn't made in the microwave or by adding boiled water—he did it well too. I was grateful I didn't have to cook after today.

I took a seat at the table and waited in a comfortable silence for the last few minutes of cooking. Once the batter was golden he took each piece out and dried the oil off them with some paper towel before dividing the plate in half for each of us.

"Hey," Charlie said to get my attention as he sat down across from me. I looked up to find his face a little suspicious. "Didn't you say Jacob was gone for the day?"

"That's what Billy said," I told him. I wondered quickly if Billy knew about Jacob, or if he was being lied to like I had been.

"Huh."

"Why?" I asked, trying to sound innocently curious.

"Well, it's just that when I went to pick up Harry, I saw Jacob out the front of the store down there with some of his friends. I waved hi, but he . . . well, I guess I don't know if he saw me. I think maybe he was arguing with his friends. He looked strange, like he was upset about something. And . . . different. It's like you can watch that kid growing! He gets bigger every time I see him."

Charlie had no idea just how _big _Jacob could be. I shuddered as I remembered him and Paul fighting when they were wolves. His foot was almost as big as my whole leg when he stepped back and almost stood on me. Not to mention when they toppled to the ground—nearly crushing me in the process.

"Billy said Jake and his friends were going up to Port Angeles to see some movies," I relayed the information I'd been given this morning. "They were probably just waiting for someone to meet them," I added.

"Oh," Charlie nodded and looked back to his plate.

Nothing more was said. We ate in silence and after washing off our plates quickly and thanking Charlie; I headed for the stairs and closed myself up in my room.

I didn't even bother turning on the lamp. The second I sat on the bed and started thinking about everything that had happened today, tears started filling my eyes.

I'd found the meadow. It was the place I had the highest hope for. It had been special, and now it was nothing. It meant nothing without . . . _him._

My lungs were barely functioning anymore. I gasped for air, but it only seemed to go straight out the hole in my chest again. It wasn't working. I rolled onto my side and wrapped my arms around my chest.

The shock I'd avoided all day had finally started ravaging my system. In a matter of seconds it was all coming out. My body trembled furiously and didn't stop even though I'd laid down on the bed.

Laurent had been there. He was going to kill me. But those enormous wolves stopped him. Those _boys _stopped him from killing me. Jacob, and Paul, I was even concerned for Sam's well being. And the others—whomever they were.

I pressed my shaking hand to my mouth to stop the sounds of my loud breaths from alerting Charlie when I heard his footsteps clunking up the stairs.

Tears ran down my face and into the pillow as I silently broke down in my dark room. Once Charlie's door closed I allowed a few sobs free, but muffled them as best I could in my pillow.

I'd been so close to death today, and had been saved by the last thing I ever would have thought of. Despite it all, I was still alive.

I pressed my hand to my chest and felt my heart beating rampantly. _I'm still alive,_ I told myself soothingly. My breathing settled and my tears slowed a bit. That knowledge calmed me.


End file.
